A Study in Pills
by thesherlockian221b
Summary: Sherlock can't stop thinking about his first case with John, what would have happened if he had taken that pill, if he could be beaten, or if he was right. So he decides to find out with the help of Molly and John. Other characters appear in Later Chapters. Read and Review please :) :) Shipping not till later..not Johnlock, sorryy :) Enjoyy
1. Where it all began

Sherlock was bored. And when he was bored, his mind wandered, it danced into the past and invaded the corners of his memories, pushing them out into the open ground of his mind. Yet there was one memory, one case that has irked him since it had been losed.

It was like an itch that wouldn't go away. Something no amount of nicotine patches could dull or help him with. No violin playing could help him out of this situation, and no amount of composing could stop the niggling doubt in the back of his mind. What if… the pill he had chosen was not the right one; the old cabbie had beaten him. His eyes flickered to his mantelpiece, to a small box that contained both vials.

Stealing them from Lestrade had been easy, child's play, once a case was finished the evidence was forgotten. A slip of the hand and they had been in his coat pocket, two small vials, each one could only be told apart from the slight scratch on the lid Sherlock had made before he was about to take the pill. His fingers tapped and leg jiggled, this was a distracion he could have, his last case had been difficult to say the least. A Scandal in Belgravia, yes, thats what john had called it, The Woman, a combination of her and the pills was too much.

His mind just couldn't focus; his thoughts belonged to the small box, with the woman appearing every so often, in the back of his mind as a shadow, flitting in and out of his thoughts like an elusive butterfly, beautiful, desirable, but extremely difficult to catch. Something about her was different, the way she had held his hand, the sound of her whisper in his ear, something in the ways she looked at him…

He just couldn't focus and the pills were getting more enticing by the day, luring him, calling him to test his mind…to see if he, Sherlock Holmes, could be broken by a simple cabbie. His hands moved to the box and his nimble fingers pulled off the lid. He draws out both the vials in one fluid motion, memories of that night return, flooding his distracted mind. The murmur of "Oooh, interesting" as he picked his bottle, the click of the pill, clattering on the floor as he threw it, the way the pill glinted in the light, him putting the pill back in the bottle, these memories were stuck, repeating on a never ending loop, a runaway train, in the ordered railways of his mind. Was it interesting because he had chosen right, or because he had chosen wrongly.

He crefully placed the pills back on the table and absently picked up his violin to play a few notes and pluck a few random strings. His eyes flicked round the flat, taking in all his experiments and documents. The eyes in the microwave were doing nicely, having been there for alomst two years. He sighed, tossing his violin gentle but carelessly onto the sofa, he walked over to the coat rack and slipped on his suit, before deftly looping his blue scarf round is neck and slipping on his large coat.

In one swift motion, he slipped he pills into his coat pocket and strode out of 221b bakers street, and over to St Bart's hospital.


	2. Deduction in the streets of london

**Sherlock set off down the street, turning up his collar against the wind, the rain spattered on his coat, hailing a cab; he pulled his scarf tighter round his neck. He sat in the cab, his mind searching the streets for anything that could tell him he was still able to use his skills, still able to deduct. **

_A woman, mid 30s, smoker, but trying to give up, obvious from the nicotine patch on the left arm, peeking through the sleeve, sleeve has holes in, old or bad quality, more likely an old but loved piece of clothing as her shoes and skirt are designer and quite expensive, most likely a loved garment from and old relative, judging by its obvious age and style, not retro, original. Does an office job, quite high up, colour co-ordinating outfit, and judging by nails, has a secretary to type for her while she dictates. _

_A man, older, in his early 50s, callused hands, heavy rainproof jacket, weather beaten face, quite tanned, but not a holiday tan, no, tan lines stop at collar, indicating shirt.. on holiday, people wear trunks, especially in hot places so obviously work, this has been the result of years of work, splinters on his hands, and scars possibly from thorns, an old hat tops his head, with wind whipped Hair and small amounts of stubble. Soil ingrained into fingers and small smudge of soil around cuffs and large dirt stain on trousers indicate gardener, shoes 1…1.5 sizes too big for him, so not paid well, accustomed to making things last. However works at rich estate, judging by the envelope of money his is carrying, with " plants for our garden" written on it, in expensive ink, and fine paper quality, a man trying to save money would never spend in on frivolities like that, and it is quite full, of large notes, the bulge is quite large, not big enough to be groups of 20s but too big to be 5s, so tens, there are lots of them, in cash so given to him by rich people. In short, he is underpaid, overworked and a damn good gardener, as his familiarity with the plant stall he is inspecting lets us believe._

**The raindrops trickled slowly down the window pane, his breath clouding the glass, the cab drew up at the hospital and he strode swiftly, straight to the mortuary, hoping to find molly there. He swung open the door to find her pottering in the labs, watching one of his experiments with interest; he walks in and gives a small cough. She turns, her face tense, but relaxed as she saw who it was. **

**He looked at her with a forlorn expression, like he was about to lose everything. She walked over, her eyes softening with concern. He passed her each capsule and told her that she should take a shaving off each one, Identify the poison, and find an antidote to it, making sure, he stressed to put the pill back in the exact capsule they were originally in. **

**He thanked her, and turned to walk out; she stood there, knowing that a thanks was as rare as gold dust with Sherlock. He turned his head and threw her one last glance, one glance that showed his worry for this, the glance that was unlike any other he had given her. He was open, no walls behind his ice blue eyes. The truth was string her right in the face, Sherlock Holmes was doubtful. He was sure, but there was no way to prove it, and this worried him**, **she could tell.**


	3. Finding the Poison!

***Author's note**

**Sorry for not posting another chapter for so long, I have had no Wi-Fi for the best part of a week, and I had to do some research for the poisons :) Thank you, hope you enjoy! :)***

**Molly watched Sherlock leave the lab and sighed, she had never seen him this solemn, even in the lab, at work, his eyes had that certain sparkle, showing he was doing what he loved. When he was bored, of course, he was grumpy, but he was never this… depressed. She settled down at a lab stool, taking a shaving from the first pill, Sherlock had not told her the difference between the pills, so she picked at random. **

**She sat down and started doing what she loved, chemistry was like a hobby for her, the chemical tests and periodic table were like maps in her head. She worked through her list of chemical tests until one worked. She added a solution of Para-benzoquinone to some DMSO and added a shaving of the white pill to the mixture. She smiled as it fizzed, glad to see a reaction was taking place, meaning she was close; it had been several long hours since she started and her eyelids were beginning to droop. **

**Meanwhile, Sherlock was sitting in a restaurant, testing his deductive skills. His eyes searched the bustling café for a target, it wouldn't be hard, and people were an open book to his developed mind these days. He had spent ages developing his intellect, all those days, withdrawing from people to hone his skills in. Of course n natural high intelligence was a help, he had always been top of the class, a prodigy, he had been told, even without the studying and working, he was cleverer than average. That had been when he drew away from everyone. He had had friends, he just also liked to be alone, and traveling all over the country had made him a few friends. But he always moved in a few months, as his studies took him everywhere. **

**Searching the café, his eyes came to rest on a young couple, leaning back in his chair; he took a deep breath and began.**

_Young couple, date judging by what they're wearing, woman, mid-twenties, who's attire is too casual for a formal occasion, but too well dressed for a relaxed meeting with friends or a date with someone she has been with for longer-Man, smart casual, late twenties, lots of hair product, face red, sweating slightly, under pressure-maybe from family member, to find partner, clothes, shirt and jacket, casual/smart jacket with top two buttons undone, so not completely smart. He doesn't smoke, his roommate does, obvious from small ash stain on right sleeve-by way of his knife and fork, this man is right handed, so it would be hard for him to get ash on the underside of that arm, dog hair on shoulder, long hair, possible a newfoundland dog as long haired dog that could jump to reach shoulder, that fits, dogs malt more from their torsos, no hairs below knees, indicating large dog. An eye keep flicking to his watch, drifting also round room-indicating boredom, Woman smiles but only with mouth-smile does not reach eyes-fake._

**After some time, he has learnt all he can about his surroundings and gets up to leave, his fingers nimbly do up his coat and wrap his neck in his favourite, comfortable scarf, before sliding into his pockets and resting. He pushes open the door with his shoulder and hails a cab, directing it to ST Bart's.**

**Molly swept the UV light over her solution, smiling as she saw the luminescence, it was, as she had first though, cyanide. However it had to be diluted to kill people in the time it took for the poor woman to scratch "rache" into the floor. She sniffed it, and mixed a tiny amount into water, smelling the water. She looked up with a sharp breath, bleached vanilla; she quickly set about preparing a serum of hydroxocobalamin, the well-known antidote to cyanide, it turned it into a form of cyanocolbalmin, this could be safely eliminated by the kidneys. She worked quickly and carefully, her hands mixing and heating, while she hummed to herself. When it was done she texted Sherlock and perched on a lab stool, awaiting the arrival of the troubled detective. **

**Sherlock strode through the corridors and took a deep, calming breath before entering the lab that Molly worked in. There were the two small bottles neatly placed on the side with another, larger one on the table directly in front to them, below it was a note written in her familiar scrawl, he picked it up in a slender, gloved hand and read:**

**"Sherlock- **

**I have decided to leave a note instead of give them to you myself in case I give anything away, the bottles are on the side and the antidote is in the bottle on the table, next to this note. The poison was cyanide mixed with a large amount of bleached vanilla, so it was diluted. **

**I wish you the best of luck, and no matter what happens, you will still be the great detective in my eyes**

**~Molly"**

**He smiled slightly as he read it, envisaging her soft voice reading it, he blinked and immediately attended to the job in hand, and he swept the pills into his pocket then picked up the antidote. **

**_Still warm, made by hand, exothermic reaction, done very recently, still bubbling slightly, holding it up to light-still settling-murky- a delicate compound…_**

**He was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, lodged in his coat pocket. He flipped it up and listened for a few seconds, before stating that he would be over immediately, and promptly hung up. He flipped the bottle over in his hand and strode out of the morgue, a smile flashing across his passive face.**

***intermission in which the hound of the Baskervilles takes place and pills are left at 221b Baker Street* please review, they are very helpful about what I can do to improve the story for you all :):):)!**


	4. The Leap of Faith

Sherlock returned from the case with boundless energy, chatting nonstop about the case, sitting in the flat and examining the gas in a bottle that he has subtly taken from the clearing so he could study it. But inevitably, after days of writing and playing with samples and microscopes, he soon learnt all he could from the sample and was inexplicably bored again, even though he had cases popping up all around London, he found them all shallow and tedious, not worth his time, 'dull, boring, predictable', of no importance, the list continues. He paced around the flat complaining and perching on furniture, he knew he was annoying John, but he had nothing to do and all he could do was waste away in the flat, watching crap telly that was all too predictable and equally as tedious as simple pacing!

Soon though, his mind returned to the pills, the little white tablet in the clear plastic bottles, simple yet alluring, they were embedded deep in his mind, refusing to leave until he had proved himself to them. They called to him, a silence aching to be filled with the sound of plastic on plastic as he opened the lid, the clink as he emptied them out of their tiny plastic prison, the clunk against his white teeth and the gulp as he swallowed them, proving to himself and others that he could beat the cabbie.

His shaking hands grasped the bottles in his hands and carried them through to the sitting room, where John was reading the paper, immersed in a gripping article about the current situation in parliament if he was not mistaken. He handed the antidote to John, who looked up at him questioningly. He sat down with a sigh and explained to John, the pain he was experiencing, the stress he was going through and that the antidote would cure him if anything went wrong, all John had to do was tip it down the suffering detective's throat, and he would recover sufficiently for an ambulance to be called and him to be taken to hospital.

John took all this in without saying a word, his face worried and stern, nodding that he knew what to do, wordlessly his eyes fixed on Sherlock, he stood beside his friend and gave him a reassuring smile. Sherlock opened the bottle, using all his willpower to quell the shake in his hands, h picked up the pill, a glistening white with pink specks, and in one fluid motion, it was in his mouth, he sat down and closed his eyes, feeling John's much needed presence beside him as he swallowed.

*Author's Note* Sorry for not posting sooner, been without wifi…again. Next chapter will be up soon, please review with any opinions on it as it helps me out a lot, THANK YOU!


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